Morning, Sunshine (Sherlock & Peter)

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

It was to Gregory's assumption that Sherlock was asexual. The man had never blinked twice at anyone as far as he'd seen, man or woman, and while he did have an infuriating natural quality of elegance, Greg had never seen him try to flirt with someone - god, the word felt terrible for Sherlock, even! And now that he'd been living with Sherlock for a few weeks, his suspicion that Sherlock didn't even require sexual stimulation was multiplied. He'd not seen any evidence of Sherlock having anyone, ever, and he was a bit of a snoop.

Which is why he was incredibly surprised to be wakened by Sherlock coming in with someone last night. Well, first he was annoyed, and then he was very, very amused. Didn't stop him from falling back to sleep a few minutes later, but when he woke up, he remembered it very quickly and couldn't help smiling.

Well, assuming Sherlock's little guest last night hadn't already left, he'd want tea. And, well, Sherlock would too, but Greg wanted to know what sap had possibly deflowered his dear consulting detective. So Greg put a pot on, then poured himself a cup, sitting on the couch and reading the paper. He left two other mugs out. Whether or not the person from last night was still here or not, that wasn't going to stop Greg from asking as many questions as he wanted because hell, it was the funniest thing to happen to him in a while.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock emerged from his room stifling a yawn (he just didn't yawn, most of the time refusing to do so - though apparently thinking about it induced the action, which Holmes tried vehemently to suppress) and wrapped in his blue robe. One hand rubbed his eyes, still closed against the light of the flat, whilst the other arm stretched out widely beside him.

By the time the Consulting Detective opened his eyes, he was stood by the kitchen worktop (navigating the flat without sight was ridiculously easy - as, despite the mess, the placement of each item was ingrained into Sherlock's mental plan of 221B), and found himself staring directly at two conveniently-placed mugs.
"That's not where I left you," he murmured, before whirling around to face the living room in a flurry of realization.

Lestrade.
Oh, bugger.
He had forgotten that the Detective Inspector was staying in his flat.

Fortunately, the man was expertly capable of pretending that he had planned everything, and so there was not so much as a hint of the fact that Sherlock was internally struggling to process just what Lestrade knew of the night before.
Instead, he poured a cup of coffee and headed into the living room, throwing himself down into a chair opposite the other man's place on the couch.

"You have questions," Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly as he raised his cup to his lips.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

After a bit, Sherlock wandered in sleepily. Greg held his tongue, though he was resisting from giggling like a primary school kid. It took Sherlock quite awhile to come back from the kitchen with a cup full of coffee. "You have questions," Sherlock said flatly, looking annoyed, as if he'd already been subjected to a litany of tedium.

"Morning Sunshine. And that I do," Greg acknowledge, smiling a little. "You look properly… done in."[/b] Better not to say fucked, Sherlock might pout. He took a slow sip of coffee, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. "So… what were you up to last night then?" If he wasn't going to call Sherlock asexual anymore, he at least needed a new label.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"Morning Sunshine. And that I do,"
Where a few days ago Sherlock would have frowned at the nickname, he had apparently grown accustomed to Lestrade's use of it. After all, it was decidedly better than some abhorrent shortened version of 'Sherlock'.
"You look properly… done in."
Really? That was how he chose to phrase it?

Holmes remained silent, drinking his coffee as the Detective Inspector continued to talk. He was obviously amused by the situation, but Sherlock stayed determined to remain as uncaring as possible.
"So… what were you up to last night then?"

The Consulting Detective smirked slowly, the eyebrow raising to rest higher than before as his head tilted to the side. The man fixed the Detective Inspector with an equally amused expression.
"You know the answer to that, now, don't you?" Holmes rotated his hand, swirling the coffee in the cup as he added - as though as an afterthought - "I do hope you weren't kept up." The words he spoke were drawn out, and Sherlock made sure to pop the 'p' sound childishly on the last word.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock smirked, a cocky little grin that Greg had to return. "You know the answer to that, now, don't you?" Greg did know the answer. He hummed modesty in response, deep and throaty from just waking up. "I do hope you weren't kept up." Sherlock popped the p, looking either amused or proud of himself, perhaps both.

"Not much,"[/b] Greg said lightly, following Sherlock's lead and taking another sip of tea. "I'm not a light sleeper."[/b] He paused, gathering his thoughts, then said, as casually as possible, "I didn't know you did… this. So you, er, like men, then?"[/b] He kept his expression as neutral as possible, though the amused interest shone in his eyes quite obviously.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"Not much, I'm not a light sleeper."
Sherlock's smirk grew uncontrollably at that - so much that if it weren't Sherlock and Lestrade speaking, one might mistake it for an actual smile. Though knowing the Consulting Detective, the smirk was the only way he could disguise his amusement.

"I didn't know you did… this.
"I don't do that," Holmes murmured absentmindedly. He did, however, manage to refrain from blurting 'first times for everything, though'. The man did so hope that his expression wouldn't speak it for him, though. Damn.
"So you, er, like men, then?"

The Consulting Detective shrugged, taking another drink of his coffee before responding with:
"Apparently."
He gained eye contact once again with the Detective Inspector seated across from him, his eyes lighting somewhat in a muted form of delight.
"You don't have a problem with that, I'm sure," His expression was more than enough to convey the unspoken thought of: 'Because that would be awfully hypocritical of you, wouldn't it?.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"I don't do that," Gregory thought he heard Sherlock murmur, and he smirked - perhaps the virgin theory was hardly far from the bush. He supposed Sherlock might have experimented purely for 'scientific' reasons in uni, or when he was younger, but he could hardly imagine Sherlock ever being in anything resembling a relationship. The man was far to absorbed in himself and his work to even be a likable candidate in the first place.

Gregory question of sexuality - or just any time of sex in general - was met with a wandering, "Apparently," and it took Holmes a half second longer that usual to meet his eyes again. He looked nearly excited about it, though. "You don't have a problem with that, I'm sure." Gregory wasn't sure what Sherlock was trying for, becoming somewhat defensive, but he gave a light snort.

"O'course not,"[/b] he replied lightly, "There'd be something wrong with me if I did."[/b] He paused, then asked, "And... is this going to be a regular thing, now?"[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock took a large drink of his coffee, allowing the other man to say what he had to.
"O'course not. There'd be something wrong with me if I did. And... is this going to be a regular thing, now?"

Holmes considered, he was fairly sure it wouldn't, but then the first time he'd tried white powder he had been quite certain that that wouldn't be a regular thing, either. And the escalation of circumstances was surprisingly something he wasn't particularly good at predicting.
"I don't think so," he replied simply. Perhaps Lestrade would excuse his indecisiveness, as it was such a somewhat awkward topic, after all.

The man turned his head toward the entrance of the living room, where he expected his night-companion to emerge soon. Sherlock would simply keep up the character of "Max" until the man left. He doubted that Lestrade would out him as Sherlock Holmes.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Waking up in someone else’s bed wasn’t new, but it always went down better when it was the smell of freshly brewed coffee that pulled him from his slumber. Stretching out a bit, Peter felt along the side of the bed, finding that his bedmate was gone and the sheets were cool. That was strange – Peter was usually the first one out of bed. However, he’d needed last night. He’d needed the bone-deep satisfaction of a night with someone else. The enthusiasm of his bedmate had been refreshing and the utterances of Italian words in his coffee-toned voice had been perfect. If Peter wasn’t careful, he could easily fall for this once-virgin. That was why he had to get out of bed and get a substantial dose of coffee before leaving and never looking back.

Sighing he sat up, running a hand through his hair and glancing around the floor for his jeans. He didn’t see his boxers anywhere, but for all the times that had happened, Peter wasn’t too put out. Standing up, he tugged the jeans on, feeling them slip down his hips a bit on the bare skin, showing off the tattoo he’d been talked into only a few weeks before. He’d regretted the intricate cross when he’d sobered up, feeling like he was wearing a religious symbol on his hip, one belonging to a religion that he didn’t feel like he belonged to anymore, but without the money to remove it, he was going to have to just live with it. The stark black ink on his hip was a constant reminder of why he shouldn’t drink. He was far too susceptible to suggestions.

Figuring that Max had seen it all, he didn’t bother with a shirt, making his way out of the room with his scars on display. He felt languid and still mostly asleep, which is probably why he ignored the fact there were voices, plural, in the house. Instead, he followed his nose to the living area, spying Max with a cup of coffee in hand. Well, this wasn’t a bad way to start the day. Shuffling into the room, he made his way over to where Max was sitting, leaning down to kiss the other man, tasting coffee on his lips. Peter had just intended to give him a kiss and steal his coffee cup, but he was still feeling like a million dollars and carefully climbed into the other man’s lap without breaking the kiss and avoiding spilling the man’s cup of coffee. Yes, this was a nice way to start the morning, indeed.

Sitting back a bit, Peter lifted the cup to his own lips, thinking that both ways tasted great.

“Morning,” he offered, lazy smile on his face.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"I don't think so."

Gregory was slightly grateful for that, though he was weirdly glad for Sherlock, that his temporary flat mate had had a good night. He heard whomever was in Sherlock's bedroom walking, now, Sherlock's head turning to see whomever it was - Sherlock's little prince.

Oh what the fuck?!

Peter Aramis was not supposed to be here, or, or, or... Kissing the life out of Sherlock Holmes - dear god! Gregory nearly choked on his coffee, setting it down with wide, startled eyes. And they just kept kissing! He had never felt more visually violated than just now.

Peter barely had a second to sit back and mumble a sweet 'morning' to Sherlock (Greg knew that voice, he knew it, that was so, so wrong) before Greg had exclaimed loudly - "What the hell did you do to him?!" He wasn't quite sure which man he was speaking to - possibly both - but... Sherlock's little fantasy night was now completely ruined by the fact that it was his own ex-boyfriend and close associate.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sure enough, Peter soon emerged from Sherlock's room, his appearance and stature blatantly advertising signs of sleep and... Well, last night - so much so that Holmes assumed even Greg, as elementary his deductive eye was, would be able to work out the circumstances. If he hadn't actually already done so, that is.

When the man immediately moved close for a kiss, Sherlock blinked rather bewilderedly for a moment (grateful that Peter probably blocked the sight of the expression from the view of Lestrade) before accepting it as actually quite pleasant, and going along with what Peter did. He doubted the Detective Inspector would hardly mind.

That is, he believed so until Peter finally broke apart from Sherlock (and stole his coffee, which the Consulting Detective was rather childishly annoyed about - he didn't share with others), and his quiet greeting of 'morning' was drowned out with a startled shout from the forgotten man of the room.
"What the hell did you do to him?!"
Sherlock's head snapped around to allow him to stare at Lestrade. He was motionless for a moment, before he threw his head against the back of the couch with a groan.
"Oh, tell me you're joking."
For Christ's sake. Was there no anonymity in New York City?

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"What the hell did you do to him?!”

Peter’s back arched in surprise. He knew that voice. He really didn’t need that voice there right then. His wide eyes met Max’s. How the hell did Greg know Max? He’d never mentioned knowing a Max before. And even if he did know Max, what was he doing in Max’s house at this time of the morning. What if...what if this had all been some elaborate joke?

Oh god...

Peter hunched his shoulders, unable to look in the direction of the voice. If he looked, then it would be real. All this – everything that had happened would suddenly be real. He’d liked thinking that he’ met someone fascinating in a bar and had a great night, not that he’d somehow been played. Now...all those languid muscles were tensed again, and his excitement for morning coffee had flown out the window.

"Oh, tell me you're joking."

Peter looked down at Max, wondering what the hell he meant by that. The sinking feeling in his stomach was just getting worse by the moment.

“Greg’ry? What’re you doin’ here?” Peter asked, accent thick in his surprise. “Max...what’s going on?”

God, he hoped there was an explanation for all this.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Peter seemed as frozen as Greg for a few seconds, as Sherlock simply leaned back with annoyance, "Oh, tell me you're joking." Yes, if this was all just an elaborate joke, now would be a good time to say, Yes, actually, fooled you! Because this was... a bit funny, but not in a good way.

Peter managed a nervous sounding, “Greg’ry? What’re you doin’ here? - Max...what’s going on?”

Max?

Oh, he certainly knew who he had to worry about now. And - poor, poor Peter. God, this bit of amusement had turned sour very quickly.

"Peter, I... live here. Temporarily. I mean - as a flat mate, of course. Sherlock ruined my kitchen and, and... right." He looked pointedly away from the sight of Peter sitting on Sherlock. "Ya know, how about he explains it, hm?" He might not be able to look at Sherlock right now, but his glare was hardly necessary to see to ring clear in his voice.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

“Greg’ry? What’re you doin’ here? Max...what’s going on?”
Sherlock focused less on the man's words, and was rather curious about the increase in the strength of his accent when Peter was under some kind of 'stress'.
Or perhaps he was upset.
It was quite difficult to decipher his emotion being so close.

Lestrade, on the other hand, was easy to solve. He usually was, which was pleasant - though there were obviously the times that he found himself unable to work out the Detective Inspector's exact feelings, and they mostly turned out to be quite infuriating.

"Peter, I... live here. Temporarily. I mean - as a flat mate, of course. Sherlock ruined my kitchen and, and... right."
Didn't ruin. Altered the layout of.
"Ya know, how about he explains it, hm?"

The Consulting Detective's head snapped up to stare at the man who had offered such a thought. His gaze travelled slowly to Peter, and then back to Lestrade as though he were bewildered. Buying time was probably considered closer to the truth, however.
Basically, he had two options as to how to progress with this.
And he felt like going with the one that would be better for himself, really. He did quite deserve it.

"That's right, sort of. I didn't really ruin his kitchen, I'm just rather terrible at cooking I suppose." He shrugged his shoulders a fraction with a modest smile. That would probably just about do it.
"I didn't have the slightest idea that you two would know each other. This is all quite awkward, isn't it?" And now laugh, there.
He turned slightly and lowered his voice a little to talk only to Peter.
"Perhaps we should go in the kitchen, I feel everybody is a little uncomfortable."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Peter, I... live here. Temporarily. I mean - as a flat mate, of course. Sherlock ruined my kitchen and, and... right. Ya know, how about he explains it, hm?"

Peter listened to Greg, taking in what he wasn’t saying. He was sitting on the Sherlock Holmes. This was the man who could tell different kinds of cigars from looking at their ashes and kept body parts in the fridge to study their decomposition. Greg had told him all about Sherlock, and yet somehow he’d managed to go home with the man, none the wiser.

"That's right, sort of. I didn't really ruin his kitchen, I'm just rather terrible at cooking I suppose."

Peter stared down at Max or Sherlock or whoever the hell he was, trying to figure out what was going on here.

"I didn't have the slightest idea that you two would know each other. This is all quite awkward, isn't it? Perhaps we should go in the kitchen, I feel everybody is a little uncomfortable."

He was lying. All he did was lie. Peter suddenly felt like he was some kind of play thing and he didn’t like it. Setting the tea cup aside, he scrambled from the other man’s lap, putting distance between them. He hugged himself, knowing it looked defensive, but it couldn’t be helped right then. He needed something to be comfortable.

“I don’t even know where to start here,” he rasped, looking back and forth between the two men, feeling a mix of emotions in his gut that were making him feel like he was probably going to throw up at some point. “I’m sorry, Greg, I didn’t...”

He didn’t want to bring this here, to make Greg listen to them together or have this awkward moment. It wasn’t fair. Had he been on the other end of that, he’d be a wreck. Glancing back at Max or whatever his name was, he didn’t see anything in his expression that showed he was upset in the slightest.

“Was anything not a lie last night?”